


every single night pray the sun'll rise, but it's coming down

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, and characters, because lbr this is all skyeward, but i'd feel bad clogging up the tags, there are so many other ships tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she's the maid of honor, he's the best man, and they couldn't be more different. </p><p>basically you've got a fitzsimmons destination wedding and skye and ward bickering and everyone seeing the sexual tension but them. that's it. that's the plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i'm such a fool to pay this price

**Author's Note:**

> for skyeward month, week 2 day 3: humor
> 
> thanks to breaddalton for the beta

She’s never been so goddamn self-conscious.

Five years ago, the prospect of Leo and Jemma getting married would have made Skye stupidly happy. And it isn’t as though she isn’t excited for them. She is. They’re the two best people she knows, and they deserve all the happiness that’s coming to them. She’s Jemma’s maid of honor, for Christ’s sake. She’s stupidly happy for them.

No, it isn’t their wedding that has her contemplating her entire existence. It’s their wedding, and Bobbi and Hunter's engagement, and even Kara, who used to scoff at the idea of getting hitched, was noticeably pregnant. Damn Thomas Ward. 

And so, Skye finds herself as the only one of her friends that needs a single room in the cozy resort that Fitzsimmons chose for the affair. Of all the places they could pick, and they decide to get married in Hawaii, the honeymoon destination of the country. 

And she’s sleeping alone. 

How goddamn depressing. 

Not that Skye can really complain. She’s on a beautiful tropical island. Two of her favorite people in the world are going to spend the rest of their lives together. She'll be able to sunbathe to perfection just before September rolls around. Not a bad deal, right now.

Still, it would have been nice to have someone to share it with, on a much, much more intimate level. But she’ll have to make do with what she has - namely, a phone, a laptop, and a deep, deep craving for a cocktail. 

And she'll need more than one tonight, considering she'll be seventh-wheeling for about the 20th time this month. To everyone's credit, they all keep the PDA to a minimum, and always keep the topic off of romance as much as possible. But she can notice the little things. How the extra, empty seat is always next to her. How Jemma and Fitz hold hands under the table. How Kara and Thomas steal food from each other. How Bobbi and Hunter always exchange little private looks.

It’s the stupid, small things that make her nostalgic. 

Instead of wishing there’s someone to share her food with, though, she’s suddenly praying that Trip and Mack arrive soon. Her sarcastic, self-pitying person can only take so much adorable couple time. They should at least have the decency to suffer with her. But no, they have to fly over later. Because their work is so, so much more important than the mental wellbeing of their favorite hacker.

Selfish pricks.

Skye tries to engage herself in the conversation currently going down between Bobbi and Jemma, but it has far too much to do with throw pillows for her bachelorette tastes. Instead, she busies herself with her phone, a dangerous path for her, especially now. Jemma eyes her suspiciously from where she’s sitting, but Skye is far too invested in looking at the offending pictures on her screen to pay much attention.

“What are you looking at, Skye?”

The light British lilt jolts her out of her cursory web search, and she looks up to see the wry smile on her friend’s lips. Shit. It’s clear that Jemma has a loud suspicion of what Skye’s doing, but she decides to play dumb right back.

“Nothing much. Just… checking up on old friends,” she says, returning a tight grin. Jemma shoots her a stern look, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, Skye. Not again. Don’t think about him. He’s not worth it,” Jemma says, plucking Skye’s phone out of her hands and locking it. 

“I wasn’t thinking about him. It was more of a thoughtless action, honestly,” she says, lamely trying to cover up her tracks. Because stalking exes totally isn’t her. Really. Especially since it’s been more than three months. More than enough time to rebound. It’s just that ever since Miles cheated on her, she can’t help but check, every once in a while, if he’s happy. And so far, he doesn’t seem any less pretentious and self-righteous than usual. Which is a plus, in her book. And he remains single. Another plus. The dick doesn’t need to ruin another girl’s life. The look Jemma shoots her is scathing. “Sorry. I’ll try not to think about him.”

“It’s not that you shouldn’t, but I just want you to enjoy yourself. I can’t see how looking through his photos is going to make you happy,” Jemma says, sighing.

Before Skye can think of anything witty to say to that, she’s interrupted by the sudden rise in volume around the table. It only takes her a quick glance around to realize that her saviors have arrived - Trip and Mack, as tall and handsome and charismatic as ever. And then everyone’s jumping up and embracing and yelling and smiling. Skye’s face splits into a wide grin as she hugs Mack, then Trip, who hugs her so tightly he lifts her feet up off the ground. 

“Where’ve you been? I’ve been tempted scratched my eyes out on three separate occasions, surrounded by all this… love,” she says, punching Trip on the shoulder and wrinkling her nose in mock-disgust. 

Trip makes a pouty face. “Boo you. You’ve been sipping cocktails while we travelled sixteen hours to get here.” Skye sticks her tongue out at him, but he’s already turned around to help Mack drag another table over to accommodate the extra people. Great. Two more (single) people arrive, and the empty seat is still next to her. She turns to sit down, and stops dead.

Correction. This is worse than sitting alone. Much, much worse.

Probably the worst thing to happen to her since she found out about Miles. And that’s not even an exaggeration.

Of course she’d forget he was coming with Trip and Mack. 

She slides into her seat, staring at the man across from her. By the alarmed look on his face, he wasn’t aware of where she’d be sitting. She grimaces, because she’s now doomed to spending the rest of the meal sitting across from Grant Ward. 

Best man of Fitz. Her most bitter rival since they’d met through Fitzsimmons all those years ago. She was a hacker, he was an army rat. They were fundamentally different.

Ever since the moment Jemma had asked her to be the maid of honor, she’d been constantly reminded that she had to play nice with Fitz’s pick for best man. It had been a process - she’d questioned her friends’ sanity on numerous occasions. Surely they recognized what a horrible pair she and Ward made. She highly doubted anyone could forget the ultimate failure that had been New Year’s Eve 2013. They’d gone back and forth on morals and government until everyone else was ready to commit homicide. Even Thomas was begging them to shut the fuck up and loosen up. It had ended with Skye making a rather sad attempt at slapping him (a blow he’d easily dodged, being the dumb specialist he was) before storming out into the freezing cold. Not even Jemma could convince her to come back in for the ball drop. Instead, Ward, being the stupidly self-righteous person he was, refused to go back inside until she did, and they shivered while the new year began.

Her friends were definitely making a grave mistake.

A quick glance down the table reveals that at least half of her friends are aware of the mistake that’s been made. But no one gets up to remedy it, because really, what can be done without making the rest of the night unbearably awkward? So Jemma gives Skye a warning glance, and Fitz shrugs his shoulders at Ward, and Thomas looks as though Christmas has come early, the little shit.

Ward shifts uncomfortably in his seat, keeping his mouth firmly shut until the waiter comes to take his order. Skye is unashamedly staring at him and his stupid cheekbones, trying to make eye contact. Whereas Trip and Mack seemed peppy enough after such a long trip, she can see by the slight frown on his face and the bags under his eyes that he’s had a considerably rougher time than the other two. Though, she reminds herself, it could just be him being his normal, frowny robot self. 

When he finally flicks his eyes up for a moment, as his food is placed in front of him, she sees her opening. “So, Ward, how have you liked being a slave to the system since I saw you last?”

Ward’s gaze hardens, and it’s Skye’s turn to feel uncomfortable. Thomas lets out a poorly concealed giggle, playing it off as a cough as well as he can while half tipsy. Kara elbows him sharply. “I’ve had a fine time serving my country. It’s really rewarding. Gratifying, knowing that I’m protecting people. It’s a feeling you probably wouldn’t be familiar with, considering your line of work.”

Skye shrugs and offers him an easy smirk, leaning over to snatch a french fry from his plate. She’s almost certain she sees Ward’s eye twitch. Thomas’s coughing fit grows louder. “Don’t hate the player, Ward. Hate the game. Or the government.” Thomas sounds as though he’s hacking up a lung. Kara offers him water, which he quickly refuses in favor of the beer in front of him. 

Ward sets his jaw. “It’s people like you that start wars, Skye. And it’s people like me that have to clean up the mess you’ve made. So I’m just fine hating the player.”

Skye can help but laugh at that. “Governments start wars, Ward. Not hackers.”

He can’t seem to find an answer to that, so he saws furiously at his food instead. By this point, Thomas’s face is practically drenched in tears, and Skye feels a thrill of triumph. Not that she’s even being particularly witty, but the fact that he finds equal joy in her torture of his brother pleases her.

Ward looks up, apparently not quite as speechless as she’d thought. “How’s Miles, Skye?”

Her stomach drops. Thomas stops coughing, and Kara goes positively pale. He knows. He definitely knows - he’s trained to notice things, and he can clearly see the lack of Miles at her side. He’s playing dirty now, apparently. She jerks back as if slapped, blinking stupidly. He’s never the one to hit first. She’s the petty one, not him. He’s Mr. Stoic Army Man. Too absurdly level-headed for low blows. Either he’s slipping, or he’s had a particularly terrible day. Or week. Or month. It’s been a while since she’s last seen him, after all. 

Despite the shock, she tries her best to keep a tight smile on her face. One she knows Ward can see right through. “I wouldn’t know.”

Ward seems to sense he’s hit a deep, deep nerve, and something changes in his face that she can’t quite pinpoint. Regret? Doubtful. Pity, maybe. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Jemma leans over, grinning wildly. “I want to dance. Skye, want to dance?” 

Her friend’s voice is too loud and deliberate, and Skye gratefully accepts the out. Sliding out of her seat, she takes Jemma’s hand and follows her towards the center of the deck. She thinks she can hear Ward say her name, maybe in an attempt to stop her, but she doesn’t turn around.


	2. every single time make a compromise

"Skye, wait."

She's already halfway to the dance floor, pulled rather aggressively by Jemma. Grant lets his hand pass over his face, sighing heavily. "Fuck."

Self-loathing sets in as soon as she’s gone. God dammit. He's supposed to be better than this. He's the one who's professionally trained in self-restraint and impersonality. He let himself slip, for the first time, and he's not sure how to fix it. 

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Well, that was rather dramatic.”

It's not exactly Ward’s fault. They do this all the time. She picks a fight, and he volleys back, and she says something witty, and they go from there. It's normal. He'd been completely prepared for a scathing reply. Something sarcastic and clever and _Skye_. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the hurt in her eyes. 

Fitz gives him a sympathetic shrug from across the table. "Listen, maybe just try not to mention Miles. From what I understand, he’s a bit of a sore subject."

That much is clear. Suddenly he's feeling like the biggest tool in the shed. He'd seen she wasn't with Miles but he'd prodded it and all he'd done was hurt her. And while she gets under his skin in more ways than one, he never really wants her to hurt. 

Suddenly he's not hungry anymore. So he sits and listens to the conversation half-heartedly, watching as his friends slowly make their way out to join Jemma and Skye - Fitz, then Kara, then Bobbi and Hunter, until it's just him and his very drunk brother. Thomas hiccups, giving him a firm pat on the back. "Listen, I know you have this weird pseudo-rivalry with Skye or whatever, but you should really just suck up your man-pride and go for it, because the unresolved tension honestly makes us all uncomfortable."

His words are slurred, and his vision unfocused, but Thomas manages to shoot him that shit-eating grin that Ward knows too well. His brother is delusional. No two ways about it. 

"Right... Okay, Thomas, I think you've had a little too much to drink. You're not making much sense right now," he says, pushing his own full glass of water towards his brother. Thomas merely shakes his head and gives him something of a pitying look, before getting up to make a sad attempt at sweeping Kara off her feet and into a bridal carry, but ends up in him simply hugging her middle. 

Thus, Ward finds himself sitting alone. It's a feeling he knows all too well. He stays at the table for a moment, weighing his options, before getting up with some measure of resignation. He should, at the very least, see if Skye is okay. But when his eyes land on her, she seems fine. More than fine, actually. She's radiant, smile spread across her features, arms locked with Bobbi as she twirls around to the beat. He feels bad just looking at her, as if he's not worthy to view her in such a carefree light after what he's said to her. 

As if she senses his gaze on her, she looks over to where he's standing, her face growing impassive. Shit. In the time it takes him to stride over to her, she's already said something to Bobbi and disappeared into the bathroom. Bobbi offers him a sympathetic shrug as he passes her. 

It occurs to him, once he's leaned against the cool brick of the hallway, that he must seem like an absolute pervert, hovering outside of the bathroom, but he sees no better options. When she finally emerges, she raises her eyebrows but doesn't seem nearly as surprised to see him as he would've liked. 

"Listen, Skye-"

"I'm not really feeling too well right now. I think I'm going to head back early. Can you tell Jemma and Fitz?" she says, cutting him off mid-sentence. He pauses for a second before the look on her face makes him comply. 

"Sure," he says. She tries to make a getaway, but he lightly grabs her forearm, and she stops in her tracks. "Skye, wait, I just wanted to apologize for before. It's none of my business, I shouldn't have said anything."

She pulls away from him. "Listen, Ward. I'm not all that broken up about before. Not everything is about you. Like I said, I'm just tired."

When she walks away, he somehow feels like even more of a jackass than before. 

 

\---

 

His room is cozier than he thought it would be. It feels foreign to him - the warm yellow walls, the cushy bed and bright lamps. There's a door in the wall that he's wary of - it connects to the neighboring room, but it locks from both sides, so he doesn't foresee any problems. 

Until he's trying to watch television and do his reps in peace and he hears it. The extremely concerning blubbering that drifts through the thin walls is enough to get him up off the floor and knocking on the adjoining door. The stuffy, "Come in," is enough to make him unlock his side and enter the room as cautiously as possible. 

The scene in front of him leaves him speechless. Because of course this would happen to him. Of course the adjoining room would belong to Skye. 

She's stretched out on the couch, buried under the comforter from her bed and surrounded by mountains of tissues and an empty ice cream container. He cringes at the sudden sound of thunder coming from the television speakers. Ryan Gosling's face pops up. The Notebook. Not that Ward would know that for sure, because he's definitely never seen it. Never. 

Skye trains her puffy eyes on him, not caring nearly as much as she should that he's in the room. She slowly sits up to mute the television. "Oh. I thought you'd be Jemma."

She's surprisingly calm, considering their normal interactions. He's probably supposed to say something. Or leave. Either or. 

He takes the former. 

"Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?" 

She nods. "Yes. You did."

His dumbfounded expression must read loud and clear, because she keeps going, laying the dramatics thick. "Grant Douglas Ward, you've wounded me deeply. Not physically. And not directly. But you reopened old wounds. You're the worst." It’s been a while since he’s heard her say his full name, and it’s not an entirely unwelcome sound.

He's still speechless, and she gives an exaggerated huff, looking at him like the idiot he is. "Heartbreak, Ward. I know you're a robot, but certainly you're familiar with the term?"

He snaps out of his confusion, suddenly defensive. "Despite popular belief, Skye, I do know what feelings are." She gives a pathetic little sniffle, and he softens considerably. 

"You look like you could use a drink. Can I buy you a drink?" 

She reaches down into the depths of her covers, pulling out a half-full bottle of rum. "Way ahead of you, big guy." 

Admittedly, he's always impressed at how little she cringes whenever handling her hard liquor. Ward shifts uneasily under her gaze, and he takes a step back. "Well... I'll leave, if you want to be alone. But you should know, my shoulder's free. If there's anything you want to talk about. Not that you'd want to talk to me, of all people."

She considers his words. "You can stay. If you want."

She says it so softly, he's almost sure he imagines them. But then she scoots over to make room for him on the couch, so he sits himself down, careful to leave a respectful distance between their bodies. He waits for her to speak, and it takes so long that he's unsure if she simply wants them to watch Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling yell at each other in silence. 

"Miles cheated on me," she says, in a clear voice that one would normally use to describe the weather. 

He stares at her. Absorbs the statement. Waits for her to say something like _that's all, thanks for the shoulder_. But she simply stares at the screen, clutching her rum. 

Ward shifts uncomfortably, fairly certain that Rachel and Ryan are about to take things up to the bedroom. But again, he wouldn't know. Still, he turns to her and tries to direct his attention away from where they're currently sucking face. 

"How long ago?"

"Months. But he won't let it go. He keeps trying to contact me."

The idea of Miles relentlessly bothering Skye against her wishes makes his jaw clench involuntarily. Luckily, she doesn't seem to notice. 

"Well, I always knew he was an idiot and an asshole."

It manages to elicit a smile and a laugh from Skye. "You only thought that because he's a hacker like me."

She's not wrong. But part of him also knows it was more than that. No need to let her know that. 

"No, that's not what I mean. I meant that he's an asshole for treating you like that and an idiot for letting you go. You're worth so much more than what he gave you."

She looks at him like he's sprouted a second head. He's incredibly self-aware under her scrutinizing gaze. "I'm not the best person to consult in these situations. I'm a robot, right?"

She shakes her head, still seemingly perplexed. "No... it's not that, it's just... that was really sweet, Grant." 

His cheeks warm, and he looks down to the floor. Good god, what was it about this woman that made him act like a teenage boy? "Right. Well don't get used to it. This doesn't change anything."

She shakes her head. Yawns. "Don't worry. I don't think any differently of you. I'm still 99% positive that you're a robot."

Her eyes are already closed, so he doesn't bother hiding the small smile that graces his face. 

"Goodnight, Ward."

He sits for a moment, watching her breathing slow. Just as he's sure she's fallen asleep, she opens one eye. "Ward?"

He jumps. "Yes?"

The mixture of amusement and exhaustion on her face is adorable. "That means you should leave."

"Right. Of course. 'Night." He hastily makes his exit, closing the door. 

He continues where he left off - push-ups, as regular and methodical as ever. Anything to keep his mind off the confusion that’s clouding his emotions and the girl that’s the cause of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grant ward is most definitely not in denial.
> 
> also thanks to the light of my life, therese, for the beta.


	3. with his educated eyes

After a morning of searching, Skye is positive that Grant Ward is a ghost. Or secretly 800 years old. It’s the only way to explain his complete and utter lack of internet presence. No Facebook, no Instagram, not even a secret Tumblr account. The man is a ghost. It makes learning about him distressingly dull. 

She actually has to talk to him to know how his tour went. She needs to ask him if she wants to know about his current living conditions. She can’t scroll through a nonexistent Twitter feed.

So damn inconsiderate.

Not that she really needs to know about him. Not that she's been wondering about how he’s been doing since she last saw him. Not at all. She's just curious, because he was strangely nice to her last night. Too nice. She simply wants to see if he went through some head trauma while in the field or something of the sort. If there's some logical explanation for his behavior last night.

She hopes there is. Because she can't think of any logical explanation for her feelings about last night. Nothing to explain the way her heart rate sped up as he walked into the room, or the way her cheeks warmed at his impossible kind words.

She'll have to work on debunking all that nonsense later. Right now, she's taking it one confusing step at a time.

Even with her elite hacking skills, she can only dig up so much about someone who’s virtually untraceable. There are holes in his government papers, like someone deleted information here and there - a seemingly random configuration, but regularly enough for her to take note of it. Something to investigate later, when she’s not supposed to be doing anything past drinking martinis and toasting a new couple.

By the end of it all, she stops on one document in particular. Just one document. She stares at it for too long, trying to make sense of it. 

Because according to the words on her screen, Grant Ward, mindless government slave, is no longer a mindless government slave. Discharged less than a month ago. No information pointing to any new occupations (which is fishy, but she's really too shocked to read into it too deeply).

Clearly, she’ll need to find some new insults.

 

\---

 

That afternoon is beautifully lazy. Skye finds herself left to her own devices, Simmons still dealing with a massively hungover Fitz and the other couples presumably lazing around their rooms doing disgustingly coupley things. 

She doesn’t know where Ward is. She doesn’t care. When she returns from a quick dip in the resort pool, she simply gives the connecting door a fleeting glance before walking out to her patio, book tucked under her arm. 

But, of course, some higher power simply can’t allow her to have a normal day on this damned vacation.

Because Grant Ward is out on the stretch of beach just outside their rooms. And she suddenly desperately wishes she’d considering the possibility that he’d be outside her room. Better yet, considered the possibility that he’d be outside her room, shirtless and dripping with sweat and doing pushups faster than she can count. The image is positively pornographic. He’s obviously doing some excessive army drill. For all she knows, he’s been out here since the crack of dawn. Does he ever sleep?

Skye stops in her tracks, halfway outside. She considers the possibility of just backing away slowly and pretending she hadn’t seen a thing. But he might hear her, and there’s no way she can just forget something like this. Besides, she’s not about to let him ruin her perfect morning. She wants light reading with a beautiful view, and that was what she’s going get.

Stepping fully onto the patio, she all but throws herself into a plastic reclining chair, inwardly cringing as the metal scrapes loudly against the stone of the floor. A diagonal glance shows that Ward has paused in his routine.

“Good morning, Skye.”

The little shit has the gall to talk to her. Standing there, half-naked, pressing a towel to his neck.

Somehow, Skye manages to look up slowly, raising her sunglasses to rest atop her head in something resembling indifference. “Oh, hey, Ward. Didn’t notice you there.”

The shit-eating grin that spreads across his face proves that he sees right through her outward apathy. He holds her gaze steadily, and Skye matches his intensity. She’s definitely not the one who looks away first. Not. At. All.

“Right,” He says, nodding. “And I didn’t notice you standing in the doorway for a good five minutes.”

Somehow, through the raging blush that spreads across her cheeks, she manages to clench her jaw and simply ignore him, turning her attention back to her book. Ward doesn’t move. She can tell, out of the corner of her eye, that he’s just standing there, towelling off and looking at her.

She slams her book shut.

“Can I help you?”

He smirks. “How’s your head? You really went at the alcohol last night.”

Skye shrugs, returning his sardonic smile. “Grant, you and I both know that I don’t get hangovers. You've seen me match what you're packing in one night without even a slight headache the next morning.” 

She bites her lip and tries to ignore the fact that she’s just broken the unspoken rule between the two of them. The rule that they never break. Ever.

She’s referenced _the_ night.

The night when they’d both indulged a bit too heavily in Halloween festivities and cheap wine and each other. Grant, usually the picture of self-restraint, buckled under the pressure of enough alcohol and a very, very cleverly crafted costume. They’d both given into whatever aggravating force drew them together, and, the next morning, she’d woken up against the soft sheets of Grant's bed to find him just as bewildered as she was. After a good hour of shouting at each other, they finally settled on making a pact to never speak of the event again.

Of course, this pact was irrelevant when she told Jemma and Kara (or, more accurately raged at Jemma and Kara about how infuriating Grant Ward was).

But she’s managed not to talk or even really think about it for a good half a year. And now she’s fucked it all up.

He’s noticed her mention. It’s clear in the way he blanches slightly and nods. 

At least her grave mistake has wiped the idiotic grin off his face.

“Right. Well,” he says, searching for something to break the awkward tension. He apparently doesn’t think of anything, standing there with his mouth hanging open.

“Well.”

“I’m just going to head inside. Get ready for the rehearsal dinner.”

Skye nods and pretends like it’s normal for him to start getting ready for the seven o’clock dinner at three in the afternoon.

“Yeah, I should probably do the same.” 

“Okay.”

They just stay there for a moment, frozen and painfully awkward. He slowly walks the few feet up the sand to his room.

And Skye does _not_ need to see his abs in such close range. Not right now.

She jumps out of her beach chair. Her sunglasses fall off her head and onto the stone of the patio, but she launches herself into her room without a backwards glance.

“See you in a-” 

His words are cut off as she slides her door shut.

Skye throws herself onto her couch and groans as loudly as she dares, knowing Ward is on the other side of the wall. 

It’s a shame he can’t hear her, really.

The muffled string of curses that leaves her mouth is a thing of beauty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to therese for the beta <3


End file.
